


It Is What It Is

by triskaidekaphilia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, M/M, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Tea, not on purpose canon just is That Way, probably AU after tfp airs, whatever that means these days lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9305777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triskaidekaphilia/pseuds/triskaidekaphilia
Summary: 5 times Sherlock's birthday sucks and 1 time it's almost okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes the events of The Six Thatchers and The Lying Detective at face value even though both of them are probably going to be heavily retconned in The Final Problem. Oh well. 
> 
> I have no idea what month it’s supposed to be in canon right now and I highly doubt that an entire year has passed but I honestly don’t care – Sherlock’s birthday is 6 January and that’s that.

The first time Sherlock’s birthday comes round the Woman has just come back from the dead and he has her phone and there is a case and it’s _interesting_ , _she’s_ interesting, almost interesting enough to block out what John said – _shouted_ – at Battersea about Not Being Gay and them Not Being a Couple and in the rush of all these things he honestly forgets about the anniversary of his birth until his mother calls that night. He goes along with her niceties but he’s much too distracted to pay much attention, not now that Irene Adler is out there causing mischief and John seems to be going out of his way to avoid conversation. What do birthdays matter when there are other things of such importance to focus on? _Yes, I got the card_. _Yes, I’ll share the chocolate with  John_ (In truth, he’d already given it to Mrs Hudson in return for her help with the Americans). _Yes, love you too, goodbye_.

When he returns to his laptop on the kitchen counter in order to continue examining the results from the morgue’s x-ray, John is standing in the doorway to the sitting room, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“What was that about then?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Sherlock says without looking up. Birthdays don’t matter to him so why should he tell anyone about them?

John laughs in that way that isn’t so much a laugh as a breath of harsh air blowing out of his lungs yet is always preceded by a smile regardless and takes a sip from his glass. “Not talking about it, I see.”

Sherlock glances up, confused.

John stares at him in mild disbelief. “Really? Fine, okay, whatever.” He takes another sip and turns back into the sitting room, leaving Sherlock sitting at the kitchen in utter confusion.

Were they still talking about the phone call? Sherlock’s brain had already moved about ten steps ahead to trying to think of the best stalker forums for cracking open a cell phone case and he so he needed to backtrack. John had been acting strangely ever since Battersea, though Sherlock had desperately tried not to notice. Did this have to do with the Woman? Or perhaps the Americans. Sherlock hadn’t been too kind to them and John was always scolding him for being Not Good. He had to fix this.

 _Why?_ asks a small voice emanating from one of the east wing gardens of his mind palace. _Because John in a strop isn’t good for the work_ , is his reply but he can’t help but feel like there’s something else. Something _sentimental_. Well fuck that.

“John,” Sherlock finds himself calling out before he quite realises what he’s doing.

John turns back into the kitchen. He hadn’t gone far – Sherlock had only been thinking for 3.74 seconds. John raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Will you –” Sherlock’s mind races. He didn’t think this through at all and has no idea what he was thinking when he called John back. He straightens his back and clears his throat. “Will you make tea?” He tries to make it sound as nonchalant as possible.

An expression passes over John’s face that Sherlock can’t quite read before it is replaced with a passive mask that Sherlock recognises as John _soldiering on_. Why?

John quickly replaces the mask with a tight smile. “Sure,” he says, moving back into the kitchen to fill the kettle.

Sherlock looks back at his lab results but can’t seem to focus. After a moment of staring blankly at his computer he says softly, but very clearly, “Thank you.”

He can feel John staring at him in amazement despite not being able to see it. He takes a small deep breath and launches into his forum search, able to focus on the task at hand once more.

Later, once John has retreated to the couch and Sherlock is alone with a cup of tea in his hand, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he deserves this one small thing on today, his birthday.

~*~

For Sherlock’s next two birthdays he is alone and does not even recognise their passing. Neither his mother nor Mycroft, both of whom know where he is and more than likely have access to things like calendars and satellite phones, call him on the occasion. He realises that his birthday must have occurred (will occur?) since he is hyper-observant and thus noticed the passing of Christmas and then New Year’s and his birthday is not far off from then but as he is not in any Eastern Orthodox countries that celebrate Christmas on 6 January or in a country that celebrates Three Kings Day, he has no idea exactly when he has completed another rotation around the sun. He has an inexplicable craving for John’s tea during the entire first week of January, however.

~*~

The year after his return from the dead he is sat at home in Baker Street, completely alone on his birthday. He knows exactly what day it is this year but he wishes he didn’t. John has Mary and he’s happy and that’s all that matters. That’s all that should matter. What he wouldn’t give for a nice set of serial murders right now, though.

After failing to distract himself with his Strad, he plops down into his chair in a huff. Mrs Hudson didn’t even come up to complain about the noise. _Oh, yes, she’s at her sisters for an extended holiday. Wonderful_. He can hear the sarcasm in his own head and it is positively dreadful.

He types out a text to John. _Tea? SH_.

 _I’m at home._ The reply comes swiftly. Not with Mary, then. Or with Mary, but bored. ( _Mustn’t think like that. He loves her, he’s going to marry her_.)

 _Weren’t you here earlier? SH._ Sherlock responds, knowing full well that John hasn’t been here since last week.

_No??_

_Shame. SH_.

 _Make it yourself for once_.

Sherlock stops himself before he sends, _But yours tastes better_. He opts to not respond at all and stare at the ceiling instead. One of the scars on his back aches from this position so he moves to the couch and petulantly stares at the ceiling from there.

Two hours later, he receives a text from the Woman. _Happy Birthday_. He nearly smiles.

~*~

The next year things are all so very complicated. He thought he was going to die. Was sure of it actually. Had bribed several security guards to help him to do it. But here he sits in his chair at Baker Street, somehow safe and sound. Well, not entirely safe, not with Moriarty out there, orchestrating something from beyond the grave. But he’s alive and there are cases and his twitter is positively exploding with possible new cases.

 _And you get to see John again_. He brushes away the errant thought. _No I don’t. Not really_. John is still with Mary. They have a baby on the way. Sherlock may be back in Baker Street but John certainly isn’t and he never will be. Sherlock just needs to accept that.

Besides, he’s been quite enjoying himself recently. Moriarty on the horizon. New cases. Mycroft is incredibly annoyed at his every move. It’s almost like the past four years hadn’t happened.

One glance at John’s empty chair reminds him that that isn’t the case. _Oh fucking well_.

His phone is in hands and his fingers are hitting send before he’s thought this through for longer than a microsecond. _Tea? SH._ Better luck this year, perhaps?

Sherlock has solved a twitter case and dismissed another in the time it takes John to reply. Busy, then. _You do know I’m not there, right?_

Sherlock sighs. John is being dull again. _Of course_ he knows John isn’t here. He always knows when John is or isn’t here, despite his continued charade of unobservant ignorance. John fills the room with his entire presence, how could Sherlock fail to notice when John takes the whole air out of the room when he leaves? What a ridiculous idea.

_Could have sworn you were. SH._

_We’re getting the nursery ready. You could help you know._

Sherlock slumps sideways onto the chair. His back scars are healed enough that this position is all right, though the bullet wound aches a little if he moves wrong. _Not with so much to do! SH._

John takes ages to respond. Exactly 15 minutes and 23.47 seconds have passed when the text arrives. _Working on the Moriarty case?_

Is that anticipation or is Sherlock reading too much into a set of pixels? _Obviously not. SH._

John doesn’t reply for some time and Sherlock goes back to solving cases on twitter, something aching inside of him other than the vestiges of a bullet wound. The Woman sends her obligatory birthday text which he dutifully ignores.

Later that night, John finally texts back. _Might pop round tomorrow. Could make tea then if you like._

Sherlock’s heart dares to soar, though he refuses to analyse why. _Close enough_ , he thinks before he can stop himself.

~*~

“Happy Birthday.”

Sherlock looks up at John in surprise. It’s not John’s deduction that is so shocking, but rather the fact that Sherlock can’t remember the last time someone said this to him in person. Mummy always calls and the Woman always texts and occasionally Mycroft will have Anthea send a card but no one has stood in the same room as Sherlock and actually wished him a happy birthday to his face in quite a long time.

“Thank you, John, that’s very kind of you,” he manages to say before hiding his face in a sip of tea. _John’s tea_.

And then John is talking about Irene Adler as if she _matters_ as if she’s _important_ as if she hadn’t just been someone _interesting_ and is now someone who just texts him out of petulance and probably some strange form of gratitude and it’s all that Sherlock can do to keep from _screaming_ but somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere small and quiet, a part of him is fixating on the fact that John has just wished him a happy birthday, that John wanted to know when his birthday was, that he has in fact just spent several hours of his birthday in John’s company drinking John’s tea for the first time in 5 years and regardless of the utterly _shit_ circumstances that brought them back together at Baker Street if only for today, if only for this moment, he has been happy.

Now John is telling him to text the Woman back because she _likes_ him and isn’t that the biggest joke in the world, isn’t that just the biggest, most cruel joke in the entire world. John telling him to, what? Date Irene Adler? _And John calls me the moron_.

So Sherlock tries to spout out his usual bullshit about Not Getting Involved but John won’t let him. John seems to want Sherlock to … be happy? Be “fulfilled”? Sherlock wants to scream that the only person who could do that is John himself but John is clearly having a moment and he needs to have that moment, this is _John’s moment_ , so Sherlock won’t ruin it with sure-to-fail declarations of sentiment. John is working something out, _John was having an affair_ , John is talking to his dead wife in Sherlock’s flat, _John **wanted more** , **John is crying in Sherlock’s flat and Sherlock must do something about it right this instant**_.

And then Sherlock is standing and he’s set down his tea and he’s taking John in his arms and he’s saying nice things, he’s saying true things, and John is crying in his arms, _John is in his arms_ , Sherlock’s hand is sliding up John’s back and onto his neck and _they are hugging Sherlock is hugging John that is what’s happening right now but it’s not about Sherlock it’s about John it’s about what John needs right now and right now John needs to be held_.

It’s only later, when they’re eating cake and smiling and laughing again, does Sherlock really process that he was able to hug John Watson on his birthday. Maybe, after the past 5 years, he really did deserve it this time.


End file.
